


Good Omens: An Account of the Proceedings of a Celestial Trial

by 77ultracrepidarian77



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Could be read as Aziraphale/Crowley or them just being friends, Lots of angel and demon bureaucracy, Original Angel OCs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25761619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/77ultracrepidarian77/pseuds/77ultracrepidarian77
Summary: After the botched apocalypse, someone in Heaven's upper management catches wind of the Archangels' foul play and sets a date for a different kind of trial to take place. After some investigation, it begins to be clear that corruption runs deeper than anticipated. As the angels facing judgment each grow desperate to salvage their reputations, lives are put in danger.Meanwhile, Aziraphale and Crowley try to figure out just what it means to have a side of their own.
Relationships: Anathema Device & The Them (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens) & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Good Omens: An Account of the Proceedings of a Celestial Trial

In Heaven, there is an office.

It is a bit cluttered. Thousands of papers are stacked atop a dark wooden desk and periodically transported to a filing cabinet that, when opened, stretches for miles and miles. The walls are shockingly white and would be bare if not for one piece of framed artwork; the messy scribbles of a child. A mug captioned “PURRSIST” above a cartoon kitten modeled after a feminist World War II poster will occasionally leave a ring of coffee on important documents before they are stored away. The hand that holds this mug is soft and warm, and the wrist connected to this hand is adorned with a string bracelet obscured with colorful beads of varying shapes and sizes.

The angel that dwells in this office has walked on Earth for an accumulated 32 days out of the six millennia that the planet has existed. This is considered to be an oddly large number of visitations.

The plaque sitting precariously close to the edge of the desk reads “ **ARIEL** ”. The title resting modestly beneath the name reads “Dominion”. 

At the time that this story takes place, four Archangels stand across from this plaque. They are very, very nervous.

+*+*+

“Gabriel.”

The sharp bite of the voice drew Gabriel back to the present. His head jerked back up to look, as steadily as he could bear, into the angry golden eyes of his superior.

The Dominion Ariel folded her hands delicately over a small stack of incriminating reports. “Tell me what occurred after Aziraphale was in your custody.”

In retrospect, it really did _not_ sound nearly as ethical now. “Eric was brought up to, uh… assist with the process of termination.”

“Eric, the demon.” A responding nod. Ariel turned to Sandalphon and Uriel. “You two watched this happen.”

“We were there to make sure that he did not…” Sandalphon paused, unsure how to proceed. In a more subdued voice that was quite uncharacteristic of him, he finished with the word, “misbehave”.

Ariel fixed her eyes, unblinking, upon Michael. “And you?”

Michael cleared her throat. “I… went to Hell with holy water. I aided in the trial of the demon, Crowley.”

Ariel made a short speculative noise and nodded. “So, the _demon_ was given a trial. How lovely for him.”

“The result was the same,” Gabriel said. “It wasn’t really a trial.”

“No? He was not given the opportunity to defend himself?”

Michael shifted from foot to foot. “Well, it… it wasn’t like it would have worked.”

Ariel breathed inward slowly in through her nose, then slowly out. It did not calm her down. “Then how nice to know that you have established enough rapport with Hell that the demons knew they could rely on you to act as an executioner. Now, let’s focus on Aziraphale. Because he averted the apocalypse, you thought it was perfectly acceptable to kill him. Even though you received _absolutely no orders nor clearance_.”

“He… he committed treason,” Uriel stammered. “Aziraphale went against the Great Plan.”

Ariel slowly rose from her seat. Though she was not particularly tall in stature (in that corporation), she towered over each of the Archangels. “If you think for one second that anyone but the Lord can change the course of the Great Plan, you are _horrifically_ mistaken.”

“But our ultimate goal is to finally triumph over Hell!” Gabriel snapped. “It was supposed to be our final battle!”

“It was supposed to be a test.” Ariel’s leonine eyes narrowed in disapproval. “If you think God will not test you, you have not been paying very much attention.”

The Archangels were quiet. Ariel sighed. Despite how utterly, utterly _angry_ she was, an icy pool of dread had begun to leech away some of her ire. As she spoke their provisional sentence, she did so formally and with the knowledge that she was near to uncovering something that could shake the foundations of Heaven. “I am putting each of you on probation. Your miracle privileges are revoked. In one Earth month, there will be a trial.” She narrowed her eyes at Michael, then at Gabriel. “A _fair_ trial. I suggest you all take the time to prepare.”

+*+*+

Adam Young felt the wind die.

Dog, who had been trotting faithfully at his side until that point, paused to sniff the air. The hellhound’s eyes began to glow an unearthly red, and his hackles rose. Adam, who had never seen him behave in such a way, felt an icy shiver of fear run down his spine. He had thought that since he had stopped Armageddon, he would be left alone. He had even stopped using his powers! 

For the most part. He was eleven, after all.

A woman was standing in his backyard. Though he had never seen her before, there was something oddly familiar about her. It was not an uncanny feeling: it felt, oddly enough, like the first time he met Aunt June, who had spent the first seven years of his life overseas in the military. She had greeted him with a warm hug. This woman greeted him with a warm smile.

“Hello, Adam.”

He did not return her smile. Instead, he approached slowly, narrowing his eyes. “Hullo. Who’re you?”

“My name is Ariel. I am an angel.” When he continued to look at her with suspicion, her expression grew serious. “I am not here to cause harm. Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not,” he lied. “I just don’t know what you want. I’m not gonna destroy the world, if that’s what you’re after.”

She shook her head. “No, darling. I just want to check on you, so to speak. You’ve just had a rough couple of days, as I understand.”

Dog stalked forward a few paces to stand before her and growled. Ariel, who did not even look remotely worried, glanced down at him with mild amusement. “Is this the famous hellhound?”

Adam watched her crouch down to Dog’s level and extend her hand for him to sniff. The hellhound’s nose twitched once, twice, and then his hackles lowered. Ariel gave his ear a gentle stroke, and Dog licked her fingers.

“He is. His name is Dog,” Adam said, stunned by this turn of events.

Ariel quickly looked back up at him, then broke out in a surprised chuckle. “Is it now! No wonder he looks so different. Names have power, after all. I’ve seen countless other hellhounds, yet none of them look like _such a good boy_.” The last part of the sentence was in baby talk. Adam found himself mildly embarrassed for Dog, who by then had rolled over to receive a nice belly rub.

“What do you mean, names have power?”

Ariel gave Adam a knowing look. “I expect,” she began, rising to her feet, “that you have quite a few questions about recent events that have, until now, gone unanswered. May I have a moment of your time?”

+*+*+

Ariel had seen Crowley twice. The first time had been during the flood business with the Ark, the second during the Reign of Terror. The demon, however, was oblivious to all other angels save for Aziraphale. That much was obvious.

Truth be told, Ariel liked Crowley. He was very clean, which was quite unusual for a demon, and he had a mischievous streak a mile wide that did not go deeper than a desire for simple inconvenience. What she liked best about him was his constant search for answers, but this was something she would never admit aloud.

Because Ariel knew how to pay attention, she also knew that Aziraphale had been lying for millennia about Crowley only being someone that he “only knew from work”. Dominion angels regulate the duties of other members of the Host. One of the many, many things that would be discussed in one month was the fact that the Archangels had, somehow, _hacked into her files to find evidence of their association_.

When she approached Aziraphale’s bookshop for the first time, she was relieved to find that she did so when there was an old black car stationed out front. It matched the rather morbid idiom of killing two birds with one stone.

Books were unfortunately ruined for Ariel. She had spent several thousands of years going over file after file: the last thing she wanted to do when she had spare time (which did not happen very often) was read for pleasure. She understood their use, however, and more than that, she rather liked the aesthetic of old bookshops. This bookshop in particular*, she sensed, was particularly loved. In fact, it was among the most-loved buildings she had passed as she drove through the streets of Soho, even if the feeling came with a slight whiff of brimstone.

*The bookshop read, “A.Z. FELL AND Co.”. This made her wonder if Aziraphale’s selected human name was Aziraphale Zira Fell, if the initials before his last name were anything more than just initials.

If it had been Aziraphale’s place of residence, Ariel would have knocked. But because it was a place of business, she felt only slightly guilty as she opened the door and a small bell announced her presence.

Luckily, the place was devoid of humans. She heard a shuffling sound from deeper inside, and then Aziraphale emerged behind the counter. “Hello, welcome to…”

She watched as the color drained from his face.

“Hello, Aziraphale,” Ariel said, offering him a warm smile. While she knew that it was unlikely that he would believe the look on her face, it was nonetheless genuine. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

The Principality swallowed dryly. “A-Ariel, what a pleasant surprise! What brings you to Earth?”

By the absolute terror lurking in his eyes in spite of his polite smile, she could only guess at what he thought she was about to do to him. “I’m just here to do a bit of investigative work. There was… quite the mix-up a little while ago.”

The terror did not go away. Instead, he nodded, still smiling politely. “Oh. I see. Yes. Um. I-It was, rather. How can I be of service?”

Ariel’s smile slipped away, replaced by a look of worry. “Aziraphale, I heard what happened with your… your last visit to Heaven. First of all, I want to make sure that you’re alright. Are you injured, at all? Your miracles as of late have decreased.”

The Principality’s eyes wandered as he thought of his next strategic move. “No,” he said, slowly. “Can’t… say that I am.”

This was not good. Aziraphale was suspicious. Worst of all, he was frightened.

It was time to stop skirting the issue. Ariel’s favorite method of dealing with obstacles was always blunt force, anyways. 

Ariel straightened her back and raised her chin. “Aziraphale, I know that you are friends with Crowley. I have known this for millennia. I am not here to punish you, or judge you, or condemn you. I am _not_ Gabriel.”

Aziraphale sucked in a short gasp of air.

Seconds ticked by as the Principality stared at her.

Ariel’s brow knitted together. Of any of the reactions that she had intended by her attempt at being reassuring, him being frozen in fear was not one of them. “Would it… help to have him out here now? I’d like to speak with him as well. He is here, isn’t he? That’s his car in front of the building,” Ariel said, raising a thumb over her shoulder.

Aziraphale had just opened his mouth (geared up, very likely, to play dumb) when a new voice spoke up behind him: “I thought you lot were done with us?”

The Principality’s eyes squeezed shut.

Ariel glanced behind him and smiled again. “Hello, Crowley. I apologize for the intrusion, but there are still a few things that we need to work out, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll say,” Crowley said, sauntering forward to stand in front of Aziraphale. The demon’s voice and movements were composed. Far too composed, in Ariel’s opinion. Hell had trained him well. “Coming in here and menacing us is definitely something you all need to work out. I’m immune to holy water, and he’s immune to hellfire. If we’re not left alone soon, you’ll find out what else we’re capable of doing. Thought we made the point perfectly clear.”

“C-Crowley,” Aziraphale croaked, seizing the demon’s expensive jacket with a grip of iron. His hands were shaking.

Ariel tilted her head slightly. “Is that a threat?”

The frost in her voice seemed to cause the temperature of the room to drop a few degrees.

Crowley casually stuffed his hands casually in his pockets. “’S just an observation.”

Ariel’s brow rose. “Really?”

“Really-really.”

As much as Ariel liked Crowley, there were certain things that even she would not tolerate. 

“Alright, then.” Ariel held out her hand, and a glass of water appeared. “This is holy water. If you manage to take one sip, I will walk out of this bookshop and never return.”

Crowley stiffened.

Ariel slowly swirled the liquid around and around in her hand. “Now, I could take this opportunity to rub in the fact that you are very obviously not immune to holy water, but I did not come here to fearmonger.” The cup vanished, just as easily as it arrived. Ariel looked into the dark sunglasses covering the demon’s eyes. “Crowley, I am a Dominion. I have access to all of Aziraphale’s records, including the record containing every single one of his miracles. That includes the miracle that occurred last Saturday evening at 10:56 and the miracle that occurred on Sunday afternoon at 3:31, regarding a slight shift in corporation. Aziraphale, dear, would you kindly step around Crowley for a moment? There’s a love.”

Aziraphale released Crowley’s jacket and did as she requested, but there was something in his expression that had hardened considerably. “If you did not come here to fearmonger, why present us with this information? To blackmail us?” Aziraphale stopped, standing resolutely before Ariel with his hands clenched to fists at his sides. “I won't be manipulated any longer. Do not make an enemy of me.”

Ariel observed Aziraphale silently. Then, she drew two documents from thin air and presented them to him. “I told you,” Ariel said softly. “I’m not Gabriel.”

Aziraphale delicately took the papers from her hand and squinted down at them. Then, his eyes widened. Crowley, who definitely did not want to be out of the loop, looked at them over Aziraphale’s shoulder. The demon’s jaw dropped. “This is…!”

“The records I just mentioned, yes. The only ones in existence.”

Aziraphale looked back up at her, stricken. “Why would you give them to me?”

Ariel huffed out a small laugh. “Well, I thought you might find it a little satisfying to destroy them. I can do the honors, if you like?”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “How do we know these are the only ones? Is your celestial copying machine out of juice?”

“You don’t trust my word?”

“Uh, no. Aziraphale lies all the time, and from what I’ve seen from the other angels, that does nothing to change my mind.”

“It’s true, I… I do not _lie all the time_ , Crowley!”

“Well, Aziraphale, I suppose I can take the time now to remind you that lying is not something you are supposed to do. Please work to correct this behavior.” Ariel turned back to Crowley, but Aziraphale caught a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips before she could school her expression. “I spoke to Adam Young this morning. As you may or may not recall, he is the only neutral party involved in all of this mess that cannot be manipulated by miracles. The boy, who restored reality, has ensured that I speak the truth on this matter. You may contact him to verify.”

Ariel turned back to Aziraphale once again, this time with an expression that revealed the guilt that she had been feeling ever since hearing about what the Principality had endured. “I wanted to give you this to show that I mean you no ill will. What Gabriel, Michael, Uriel, and Sandalphon did to you is entirely unacceptable, and I regret finding out about their plot too late.” Out of her coat pocket, she withdrew two small business cards and handed one of each to the angel and the demon. “In one month, the four Archangels will face a trial of their own. I would like each of you to give your own testament, but if you are uncomfortable with that, I would settle for just receiving each of your accounts of the events.”

“What, and you’d trust the word of a demon?” Crowley pressed, crossing his arms. “Not that I’m eager to give any sort of testament to the same crowd that would sooner have me take a swan dive into a pool of sulfur.”

“I would say that you are more than an exception,” Ariel said. “I trust you to protect Aziraphale. Both of you risked everything for the good of the world.”

At their stunned silence, Ariel straightened the lapels on her smart white blazer.

“You have my information. Please contact me when you’ve reached your decisions. I… I will do my best to fix what has happened.”

“No, no, no. Hang on. You don’t get to take off just like that.” While Crowley’s posture was still closed, Ariel noticed that he was not wearing any affectation of nonchalance. In fact, his tone had become more biting, more wary.

It was a good sign.

“Yes?”

“Where were you when the world was coming to an end, hmm? Where were you when Aziraphale tried to get in contact with upper management? _Where were you when they tried to roast him alive_?” Crowley’s voice had developed a slight hiss towards the end of his barrage of questions. “Awfully convenient, coming in at the end when everything gets to be tied up with a neat little bow. If you did your job properly, you would have protected him.”

Ariel’s fingers twitched, ever so slightly, as she thought about how desperately she wanted to miracle herself a cigarette. She’d kicked the habit a little over fifty years ago (when they first found out that it was unhealthy, and she decided that as an angel she would have to set a good example), but the longing still reared its ugly head on occasion. For the past two weeks, the urge had graduated to a rather pronounced craving.

As it was, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “My job is… not the sort that you might think it is, Crowley. In the beginning, yes, I was more involved in the activities of the choir. Training exercises, team building units, and advising; these were all things that fell under my occupation. Now, it is in the cataloguing of miracles, souls, and in presenting concepts to the board to maximize heavenly influence. Just as Aziraphale does not guard Eden now, I am not in direct contact with most angels; merely what they are told to do. The deliverance of ordinance is passed to the Archangels.”

Ariel pinched the bridge of her nose. “I was in the middle of a heated board meeting when Aziraphale called, trying to argue that the blasted apocalypse was premature. For that entire week, I was up to my ears in paperwork and conferences trying to find a way to stop the end of the world. It was not until recently that I discovered that someone had hacked into my files, and not until very recently when I found out who it was.”

*+*+*

Death was having what some would call a bad week.

Sure, the apocalypse had failed; that was all in the ineffable plan. It had been nice to meet with War, Famine, and Pollution again, even if their time together had been relatively short. It had been, as far as it was concerned, a nice pre-game workout. It had collected many souls over the span of those few days before the Little Apocalypse That Couldn’t finally reached its conclusion.

Sure, it had been a little embarrassing to have been snubbed by an eleven-year-old, but Death was patient. Adam Young, for all of his power, had a time and a place, like all things.

The events following Saturday, however, were _awful_.

Death was already an incredibly busy anthropomorphized concept. It existed over indefinite solar systems, galaxies, and nebulae. It existed within everything between the tiniest fading microorganisms and the hypergiant stars erupting to become supernovae (though it leaves before the remains can coalesce and become either a neutron star or black hole; that’s strictly Life’s job, the easygoing _bastard_ ).

Time is a relative concept, yes. However, even abstract concepts can recognize when they are overworked and put under duress, and Death, for the past few days, not only still had to remain at the side of every single dying creature and particulate, but now it had to track down all the creatures and particulates that were now _un_ dead and scratch _them_ from its ledger, all thanks to one increasingly annoying eleven-year-old boy on a mission to “set the world right again”.

Cockups can happen. They can, in fact, happen to every being in the universe save One. 

As overworked and distracted as Death was during those few days following Saturday evening, it is completely understandable, given the circumstances, that a soul might fall between the cracks.

*+*+*

In Hell, there is an office.

It is pristine. Or, as pristine in condition as an office in Hell could possibly be, given the leaky pipes and the walls oozing with a substance that should not under any circumstances ever be licked. This is the office that has birthed the many demotivational posters that can be seen all over the busier hallways of Hell. The words “IF AT FIRST YOU DON’T SUCCEED, THEN STOP TRYING” is emblazoned in bold comic sans directly behind a creaky swivel chair.

On the wobbly desk at the center of the room is a high-speed, incredibly expensive computer. This computer is the most technologically advanced piece of equipment in the entirety of Hell, and it is all thanks to Crowley’s casual mention of a machine with unlimited access to information (and by extension, sin) back in 1975. When the demon that dwells within this office grows bored of filing reports of temptations, she logs onto Twitter and gets into political arguments with strangers. Either that or she plays Minecraft, but nobody is allowed to know about that last bit.

There is no plaque on this desk nor a sign on the door indicating whose office this is, but nonetheless, it is an office that has been generally avoided for thousands of years. The only identifying mark in this place is that the computer’s log-in screen reads “Welcome, Dee” in text before a deceptively calming ocean background.

At the time that this story takes place, a pale-faced Newton Pulsifer is being pushed towards the computer by the two Dukes of Hell, Hastur and Ligur.

He is about to press a button on the keyboard before an angry voice shrieks, “ _What do you wank-stains think you’re doing?_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> I intend to focus on Aziraphale and Crowley much more in the next chapter, don't worry.


End file.
